


black velvet

by machagoth



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Crossdressing, Embarrassment, How Do I Tag, M/M, Napoleon likes to toy with his butler, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 11:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21118100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machagoth/pseuds/machagoth
Summary: Brownie comes home late from a mission to find Napoleon Cake awake and restless.





	black velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't expect to finish this today, but I realized it was never going to be done if I kept trying to force the other ending I had in mind. Enjoy!

It’s late at night when Brownie returns home from his mission with Black Tea. He inhales as quietly as his overworked lungs will allow while struggling to catch his breath. The still air of the halls is filled with the tired click of his shoes against the tile.

Brownie always has difficulty winding down after a mission—whether successful or not. Now, finally, he can feel the tense muscles and knots that wound through his body begin to loosen as he takes in the undisturbed atmosphere of his own home. Or, Napoleon's home, really. But it's beginning to feel like home to Brownie too.

Rather than heading to bed, Brownie opts instead for the empty bath. The uniform Black Tea gave him is uncomfortable—slightly tattered from battle now, and much too tight to begin with. The thought of stripping it away, rinsing the sweat and grime off his skin, and melting against the soft curves of a tub helps him begin to feel at ease.

Suddenly Brownie hears his named being called. It interrupts the softening sound of his heartbeat echoing against his rib cage—the sounds of the world penetrate his focus once more.

Napoleon’s awake, sitting inside of his office. The door is open, the lights off, leaving only the moon to light the room.

“Sir, you’re awake?” Brownie’s voice is even as to not betray his surprise nor exhaustion. He straightens his posture and makes his way into the room.

Napoleon’s desk chair is large enough to cast strange shadows against his face and the walls. He looks so much less familiar, here in the dark, at this ungodly hour.

Napoleon ignores Brownie’s question, his lips curling into a sharp smile instead that Brownie can barely make out in the moonlight.

“Brownie, would you fetch me something sweet from the kitchen?” Napoleon asks but it doesn’t sound like a question—it’s an order loud and clear.

“Of course, sir,” Brownie answers, his composure untouched. He wants to ask if he can pardon himself first to clean up, but he knows Napoleon’s priorities lie in dessert, not cleanliness or etiquette.

Before Brownie can disappear down the hall, Napoleon interrupts him again.

“Wait, come here first,” Napoleon says in a tone that gives away his curiosity. Brownie obeys without a second thought.

Napoleon examines him, looking Brownie up and down.

He hums in what Brownie thinks he must be mistaking for pleasure. There was nothing pleasing about the current state of his appearance.

"Was this your idea?" Napoleon says, motioning towards the uniform. His arm stretches across the desk until a hand appears at Brownie’s side. Napoleon runs his fingers against the tattered material of the delicate skirt’s hem.

"Mistress Black Tea," Brownie murmurs the correction.

“The ears too?” Napoleon didn’t have to make a noise to laugh, Brownie could feel it in the angles of his smile and the glow of his eyes.

Brownie’s face heats up. “Yes, sir.”

"I commend her taste," Napoleon glimmers with glee, “you’re a lovely sight right now.”

Brownie wonders what embarrassing color his face must be and if the night pooling in from the windows was dark enough to disguise it. “Thank you, sir.”

Napoleon licks his lips. “Don’t you like it too? You seem uncomfortable.”

Brownie silently curses his superior for refusing to end the awkward conversation.

“I simply followed Mistress Black Tea’s orders, sir,” Brownie manages to recompose himself with his answer. He bows his head and turns to leave.

“I wonder, do you always do as you’re told, Brownie?” Napoleon says, stopping the other in his tracks.

The comment manages to catch Brownie off guard. Just when he thought that he had grown accustom to Napoleon’s eccentric words and ways, here Brownie was—unprepared and suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Yes sir,” Brownie manages to reply again, his heart beating strangely this time. What kind of question was that? Brownie’s a dedicated butler, of course he takes orders seriously and intends to follow through on any that are given to him.

Indeed, Brownie prefers to follow orders and stay in line, but Napoleon always seems to do things in a way that Brownie could never fully understand without an instruction manual.

Brownie realizes he has been fidgeting, but by the time he stops Napoleon has already leaned against his desk to whisper to the other, “then will you come closer?”

“Sir, the kitchen—” Napoleon cuts him off before he can finish protesting.

“I thought you always did as you’re told?” Napoleon’s pouting now, a display that is much more familiar and easier for Brownie to deal with.

Brownie hesitates before mustering a small nod and complying. He crosses the barrier that was the desk between them and kneels so that he’s below eye level now, allowing Napoleon to tower over him.

He keeps his gaze downwards to avoid Napoleon’s eager stare. Sometimes the other Food Soul’s boldness stirred something strange inside of Brownie that he much prefers to ignore.

“That’s better,” Napoleon’s lips tug into a smile that’s undeniably delighted. Brownie’s not sure what kind of mood the other’s found himself in tonight, but it’s truly beginning to wear on him now, more so than before. He doesn’t return the other’s smile. Instead his flush deepens, and he squirms.

Napoleon leans closer, running his fingers down the other's back without restraint, like it was the natural thing to do. He traces the lines of Brownie’s shoulder blades through his jacket.

“Next time you’re all dressed up like this, lose the trousers,” Napoleon says, “I have a theory that you’d look much cuter in some stockings. It’d certainly match your dress much more nicely.”

“Noted,” Brownie says, curling his palms to finger the bottom of the tatty dress. He has no future plans to dawn the dress again unless absolutely necessary, a butler’s uniform was much more comfortable and practical.

Napoleon laughs to himself, Brownie assumes due to the shortness of his reply. They're both used to it.

Brownie’s shoulders jolt minutely when Napoleon fingers brush against his exposed collar. He hears himself give a sharp intake of breath.

That—he wasn’t expecting, and he’d never willingly admit to the other that his neckline was particularly sensitive. He might as well advertise it to the world though, for all his secret was good for now that Napoleon had caught Brownie’s reaction to being touched in that particular spot.

Napoleon draws circles with his index finger just above where the silky, tempting material brushes against Brownie’s skin. His nails drag along soft skin, slipping just under the edge of the fabric before retreating.

“Is there something interesting about the collar of my shirt?” Brownie says finally, his tone vaguely indignant. Napoleon looks up from his teasing and grins at the embarrassed look that’s risen in Brownie’s pursed lips and averted eyes.

“You look beautiful,” Napoleon says without an ounce of shame. It makes Brownie’s breath shake as he oppresses a gasp.

"Mhm, I wish you could relax," Napoleon whispers, sounding breathless himself now, “you’re wonderful, Brownie.”

Brownie's lips part, his cheeks burning pinker by the second, but silence is his answer. What’s happening? He feels like he has to focus just to keep himself from collapsing.

The butler closes his eyes when the anticipation becomes too much and yet minutes pass by before anything else happens.

“Bring that dessert to my bedroom quarters, won’t you?” Napoleon laughs abruptly and kisses the top of the other’s head so fast that Brownie barely registers the sensation. 

Napoleon leans back in his seat, bringing the space between them back into existence like it had never left at all.

“Yes sir,” Brownie tries to act unfazed, but his voice goes up at the end, choking a bit and betraying him. The layers of his clothing rustles when he shifts and the sound is deafening to Brownie. He takes a deep, nervous breath as he picks himself up from the floor and leaves

Something bubbles up inside his stomach on his way to the kitchen, and Brownie wants more than ever to succumb to the bath water that he’s been deprived of in the name of Napoleon’s torturous games.

**Author's Note:**

> As always concrit is welcome but not required. I love these two and wish I could write more of them, lol.


End file.
